


Pee Girl Gets The Belt

by softer_softest



Category: Green Day
Genre: Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Crossdressing, Established Relationship, Fluff, High School AU, M/M, Oh wait, Really fluffy, Sexual Tension, Teenager AU, because i do - Freeform, billie in a dress, billie in makeup, billie/mike - Freeform, green day rpf - Freeform, hole (the band), i hate that term but i have to make do with it, i mention family, it's good, mike in makeup, named hercules because i'm greek and it's my favorite disney movie, that's it!, there's another doggo in this, there's some, they do each other's makeup but it's not as horrific as it sounds, when isn't there in these things, you know that ONE gig with the dresses, young billie, young mike
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-20 22:43:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16147094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softer_softest/pseuds/softer_softest
Summary: “I hope my parents walk in right now,” is all he can say, because, quite frankly, the feel of ruffles against his legs is making him a little weak. He places a hand on Billie's waist even as he sighs, but it's more so in contentment than anything else.or, billie looks exceptionally good in a dress.





	Pee Girl Gets The Belt

**Author's Note:**

> i only seem to be able to write these when i'm depressed or something. also i'd like to thank you guys for your lovely comments on my works, and i've been trying to reply to them but it's not working for some reason, so please don't think any of them goes unappreciated. in fact, your guys' comments and kudos are what motivates me to get some writing done so, by all means, make sure to leave some for me to get all excited over lmao. also i swear i know more about makeup but this is, like, how i imagine two dumb teenage boys with no experience to think of it. as always: i do not own green day, nor am i claiming any of this happened (except the whole dress gig, that definitely happened.)

There are a million different things that Mike could be doing on a Saturday afternoon. One of them could have been spending time with his family, though that's currently off limits due to his parents' much too active social life – and he's not even sure if they're currently on speaking terms. An alternative could have been taking the dog out for a walk, but Hercules has been sleeping the whole damn day – which he would be grateful for if he wasn't this fucking bored. No one's even answering his calls, but he supposes that is because they're all either freaking out about exams or having sex, or both, at the same time.

The point of all of this is that, as dramatic as Mike likes to be about his body being nothing but a boring cage, there are a million different things he could be doing. The last on the imaginary list would be staring at Billie Joe stand on his doorstep, wrapped in a huge, Sherlock Holmes-reminiscent coat.

He's not sure how it all came about. One second he's lying on the couch, microwave pizza in hand and watching Hercules nap as a Hole CD plays in the background, and then suddenly he's answering the door to a bubbly-looking son of a bitch who has been avoiding his calls all day long. He doesn't look like he's come here to redeem himself for going under the radar ever since yesterday, nor like he's going to come inside any time soon. What he's also not sure about is who started this pretty intense stare-down that's presently unraveling, but he knows he's the one who's breaking it.

“Any particular reason for...” Mike pauses, looking Billie up and down one last time to figure out what the ending of that sentence should be. The coat's still there since the last time he so confusedly eyed him - read, two seconds ago - but, now, he notices it reaches down to the middle of Billie's shins. Billie's quite obviously _naked_ shins. Mike forgets what he was about to say. “Please tell me you're not naked under there.”

Billie's smiley eyes morph into an annoyed eye roll, “I'm not that far down the slut road yet.”

Mike practically bites himself so as not to say what he originally has in mind. He shrugs instead, “Whatever you say.”

“Can I come in?” Billie clips, barely waiting until Mike's finished his sentence. His foot's also tapping on the gravel impatiently, and Mike must admit that the only reason he doesn't deny him the entrance in his home is that he truly hasn't been more intrigued in his life. That, and Billie would screech his way into his house if he dared close the door on him, anyway. He supposes it'd be nice to keep things civilized for once. (Billie's also particularly pretty today, but the other reasons sound more valid in his head.)

Instead of replying, Mike steps aside, never breaking eye contact. “I'd love to see what would happen if my parents had answered the door,” he muses as Billie steps in, looking like he was about to run over to the place Hercules usually occupies, taking a couple steps back when he notices him sleeping soundly, under Mrs. Pritchard's dirty, white curtains.

“Your parents are never home,” Billie dismisses, pausing to listen to the song coming from Mike's ancient CD player. It helps Mike realize that the CD has started over. There's a sudden creak from upstairs, and Billie turns white as a ghost as he tightens the still very much buttoned coat around his torso. “Shit, _are_ they home?” he whispers in fright.

Mike bursts out laughing, which apparently is good enough of an answer for Billie. He releases the breath he had hitched in his throat, as well as the death grip on his coat. “It's the cat, you wuss.”

Billie doesn't respond. He checks the narrow flight of stairs on his right, and indeed, Sheena comes slipping down the stairs with delicate steps, getting lost somewhere in the kitchen. He grips the coat again, but this time Mike guesses it's not to tighten it.

“Do you have, like, weed under there or something?” Mike huffs, always the impatient one, and he drops down on the couch, grabbing his half-eaten pizza slice before staring at Billie intently. He takes a big bite, as big as Billie's eyes. “I still don't believe you're wearing any clothes under that, you know.”

With a few quick snaps of a few worn out buttons, the coat drops on the floor with the dramatic factor only a Billie Joe Armstrong can muster. Mike all about chokes on his fucking pizza.

It's a true sight to behold. One that Mike hasn't had the pleasure of experiencing before, or even thought was possible in the near future, but here it is, in his very own living room. Even Hercules seems to wake up from his slumber, just so he can see this spectacular show of frizz and ruffle engulfing the pale, skinny son a bitch.

The first thing his eyes land on is the thin, white straps resting over Billie's gaunt shoulders. They're almost the same shade as his skin, just a little bit purer, milkier. It follows up with the ruffles above ruffles of fabric around Billie's waist and thighs, stopping a little above his knees. It's not puffy or over the top, but it's sparkly, and it's delicate, it's fairy-like. It's...

It's Billie in a fucking dress.

He doesn't even have time to recover from nearly choking before Billie twirls around a couple times, looking like he's having the time of his life. He observes the twirling fabric as he turns, shaking around to see it lift around his thighs. Mike's pretty sure he can see a pair of white boxer shorts under the offending piece of garment.

“I need you to zip me up,” Billie finally drops the other shoe, seeing as it's quite obvious Mike isn't really capable of forming words right now. Speaking of shoes – Billie's wearing his dirty fucking Chucks to match a pixie-like dress, which makes everything all the more... _Billie._

“You...” Mike tries, but his voice is hoarse from coughing up pizza, and his throat's still a little sore. He clears his throat, rubs at his eye, and does a double take when he sees how open the neckline of the dress is. “You came all the way from your house, in a fucking _dress,”_ he pauses, because just saying the word is too much for him to handle right now. “Because you wanted me to do your zipper?”

Billie nods as if it's something they do every other week rather than one of Mike's several Billie Joe-induced spiritual awakenings. Boys in dresses. Who knew, right?

Mike's hand reaches up to rub at his suddenly aching forehead, but his eyes, as expected, betray him as he stretches his neck to try and look at the back of the dress, see if it's as thin and delicate as it is in the front. Billie obviously pities him, because he twists his torso in a way that the back of the dress can be seen on his side. Mike decides that it's equally pretty, a tad bit longer in the back, and there's also a bit of dirt smudged between the frills.

Mike laughs to himself, but it's really just a pathetic gush of air, “What is it even-”

“We have a show tomorrow,” Billie interrupts, as if Mike doesn't know as much. It's hard to believe Billie hadn't thought his explanation through before he arrived. Mike raises his eyebrows inquiringly. “Jason dared Tré and me to wear skirts on stage tomorrow,” he elaborates, like this is a good enough explanation for Mike. Billie shrugs coyly, “I thought I would, like,” he scratches at the top of his head, where his hair's the greasiest, “practice this whole thing. I'm gonna take it a step further.”

 _“That_ you are,” Mike breathes, stopping to really get a good look of him. It's really obscene how right he looks in this – in a pinkish white frilly dress – and how pretty his face looks glowing like that. His hair's so curly and greasy that he could twist it around, strand by strand, and have it be held in place for hours – exactly what he's done today. Mike's seen his hair like this a million times before, in little dreads, but this is the first time he becomes this aware of how lovely they make him look.

“You're glowing,” Mike says in disbelief, staring at him even as he stands up from the couch, tossing his now insignificant slice of pizza on the coffee table. Billie preens under the attention, turning around without Mike having to ask him to, presenting him his very much unzipped back. It reminds him that this is indeed Billie, and not another conveniently just as pretty guy wearing a dress, because his back's as pale as it's always been, and he can see that the base of his neck's a little flushed.

Mike shakes his head as he reaches out, holding down the bottom of the zipper with trembling fingers, his other hand trying to zip up the damn thing. He gets a little bit distracted before he zips Billie up – meaning, his free hand starts feeling the soft material of the ruffles, blinking down at the little bit of sparkle that sticks on his fingertips – but he eventually does it, and Billie can turn around again.

He looks at Mike carefully, one of his hand's playing with his skirt jokingly. “You still haven't told me whether you like it or not.”

It doesn't sound accusatory or anything of the sort. It's a pretty true statement, though Mike doesn't get it, because all he's been able to think about since that ugly coat dropped on the floor is Billie in a dress, and sparkly white material, and black-haired pixies with oily locks. He guesses Billie already knows that – all he has to do now is voice these thoughts, just to feed Billie's need for constant attention.

Still – Mike looks at him as if he's grown a second head. “Are you seriously wondering if I like it?”

“That was my question, wasn't it?” Billie snaps, though it's hard to believe he's grown irritated with Mike's timidness when he's grinning this big. It's apparent that Billie can see Mike's eyes starting to wander again, so he slaps his cheek softly, laughing as Mike delivers an even smoother blow on his shoulder. “Well? I came here for you to tell me what you think, not stare at me the whole time.”

Mike finds that hard to believe. “We both know me saying either yes or no won't affect your decision,” he scoffs, but it's really not something that's he's bitter about. He appreciates Billie's autonomy, and how he doesn't care what anyone thinks. If he wants to do something, he'll do it, as out of the ordinary or odd it is. It's one of the many qualities Mike loves about him – right next to the newly created: how good he looks in dresses.

Billie Joe twirls around one more time, and then he loops both of his arms around Mike's neck.

“I mean,” Mike shrugs, allowing himself to feel the contrast between Billie's hairy legs and the silky material of the frills. _Obscene._ “It's a nice dress.”

 _“No shit,_ it's a nice dress,” Billie deadpans, grabbing the skirt of the aforementioned piece of garment and rubbing it between his fingers, impatiently. “That's why I'm wearing it. Do _I_ look nice in the dress?”

“Well, _yeah,”_ Mike finally scoffs, feeling as if Billie had to physically claw the words out of his throat. He shrugs, “You actually look really pretty, Bill,” and then he has to pet over the delicate straps resting above Billie's collarbones, stretching them about with just one finger. “Where did you even find that?”

“Anna used to wear it all the time in, like, eighth grade,” Billie offers, tracing Mike's cheekbone with his calloused fingers as a slower song on the CD starts to play, ultimately softening the mood. “I've had my eyes set on it for quite some time.”

“You stole your sister's dress that she wore when she was, like, fourteen,” Mike murmurs. What he actually meant was stating it rather than mumbling it out, but his voice can't get any louder with his head buried in Billie's neck. Somehow, they've started slow dancing to Miss World, a rather odd song to be slow dancing to, but they make it work. Mike all about breaks his back to be able to be on eye level with Billie Joe, and he's still a good inch taller as he bends down. It'd be easier if Billie was making an attempt to reach up a little bit, like go on his tiptoes or something, but Mike knows he doesn't bother because he's sure he'll get away with it – because Mike's wrapped around his little finger and Billie's very much aware of it. It's not entirely untrue. He shakes his head when Billie steps on his foot – probably on purpose, “You could have asked me to go dress shopping together, you know.”

“But then I wouldn't have been able to see you piss your pants in shock,” replies Billie, who's too busy playing with the collar of Mike's shirt to mind where he's stepping. Mike's socks are covered in dusty footprints by now.

“I did _not_ piss my pants,” Mike huffs, mindful of the way Billie gets goosebumps from his breath being so close to his skin. They both stop moving when the track changes.

“Yeah, it's a bit hard to piss when you're sporting a boner.”

“I'm not hard!” Mike defends, finding it hard to when he's simultaneously in the middle of a laughing fit. He drops back onto the couch, scratching his head when Billie doesn't follow suit. He observes him for a little while. “So, you're here to show me your dress and... leave?”

“You're not gonna get rid of me that easy,” Billie snorts, approaching Mike on the couch with lazy footsteps. Mike's piqued, to say the least. Instead of dropping down next to him – or between his legs, for the matter – Billie sidesteps the couch and goes to stand in the back of it, putting both of his hands beside Mike's head. Mike bends his neck to be able to see him, albeit upside down. “I want you to do my makeup.”

And then he's gone. Mike barely has the time to turn around and see him trudge up the stairs, skirt moving side to side behind him as he all but gracefully jumps up the steps, heading to God knows where. Mike laughs to himself, feeling Hercules circling his feet. He bends down to pet him, suddenly acutely aware that there hasn't been another sweet laugh following his own – or anything that would indicate that Billie was joking, for the matter. Mike freezes.

“Wait- Are you serious?” he calls, staring at the ceiling as if Billie can sense him looking his way. When he doesn't get an answer, Mike slowly starts to stand on his feet, telling Herc to stay put before he practically races up the stairs.

To his horror, the first thing he notices is how his parents' bedroom's once shut door is now wide open, and his suspicions are confirmed when he peeks inside and sees a flurry of white and sparkle twirl about. Billie messes with each and every single drawer he can spot, presumably searching for what Mike was hoping to be the butt of the joke to this whole ordeal.

“Bill,” Mike sighs, practically feeling the air being drained out of him as Billie looks at him through the mirror, with a teasing glint in his eye. “If my mom asks me why her bedroom's a mess, I won't hesitate to tell her the truth.”

“Woah, you're finally gonna tell her we're dating?” Billie stops everything he's doing, watching to see Mike's reaction through the mirror. He gives Mike a knowing little smirk and carries on picking apart Mrs. Pritchard's dresser's drawers, gripping the stuff that has grabbed his attention in one hand, “I didn't think so.”

“Can you stop making a mess?” Mike groans, even as he's dropping on his parents' double bed in defeat. He can still see Billie picking up stuff from his mom's dresser, and is quite relieved when he comes to a stop, putting different kinds of products in front of the mirror. Different makeup products.

 _God,_ he was being serious.

“Billie, I _don't_ know how to do makeup,” Mike says in desperation, knowing damn well it'll do nothing to make Billie leave him alone. It's not that he's not intrigued, or kind of curious to apply makeup for once in his life – but he's pretty lucky not to have popped a boner this far, and he's not sure he's going to make it. He sits up against the headboard as Billie checks inside each and every product he's picked apart, from eyeshadows to lipsticks. Mike's pretty sure he doesn't know where half of these are supposed to go. “You'll probably end up looking like a clown.”

“If that's what turns you on,” Billie mumbles distractedly, applying one of the lipsticks on his hand, his eyes glowing at the rich red color of it. “Oh, I like that one,” he grins, proudly showing his hand to Mike. It's all too cute for Mike to remain grumpy.

“So, this is happening,” he sighs, and his tone sounds like the tone of a man defeated, knowing he's gonna have to do this. He could always close his eyes, but that would probably look hysterical, and Billie's a rather impatient person. The only thing that gets him going is that he can make Billie look as terrible as he desires, and there's nothing the prick can do about it. “I'm doing your makeup.”

“Someone's catching on,” Billie grins victoriously, collecting the items in his hands as he begins to exit the room. “I wanna go downstairs where there's music,” he calls before he's gone, and Mike rubs at his forehead as he hears the creaking of the stairs. Sometimes Mike thinks that Billie's as attracted to music as a moth is to a flame.

By the time he makes it downstairs, Billie's already sat on the couch with Hercules barking happily by his feet, and all the makeup's spread on the coffee table, right next to Mike's practically untouched pizza. The tell-tale creak of the ancient wooden stairs tells Billie that Mike has indeed followed him, so he straightens up and sends Herc on his way, turning around as nonchalantly as he can. Mike shakes his head.

“Don't look at me like that,” he mumbles, finding it impossible to resist Billie's contagious laughter. He sits down next to him, sliding his eyes over the items on the table, trying to recall seeing his mom doing her makeup at least once before.

As he observes a broken container of powder and tries to figure out whether it had always been like this or if the clumsy asshole Billie is broke it, he feels the latter move around beside him, and before he knows it, he ends up with a lap full of Billie and frill. With each leg on Mike's side, knees digging on the couch cushions, Billie places both of his hands on Mike's shoulders and looks at him, waiting for him to say something. Mike's not sure what he's expected to say.

“I hope my parents walk in right now,” is all he can say, because, quite frankly, the feel of ruffles against his legs is making him a little weak. He places a hand on Billie's waist even as he sighs, but it's more so in contentment than anything else.

“Ugh, imagine,” Billie grumbles, reaching back to grab a few stuff from the table. Mike observes his torso stretch and bend. “Good luck explaining that one.”

“I suppose they've seen worse,” Mike says dismissively, accepting whatever Billie's holding in his hands. There's some black eyeshadow – Mike knows as much because he's seen his mom apply that one – and something else that he recognizes as mascara, what his previous girlfriend had insisted on wearing wherever she went. He remembers it made her eyes look quite pretty. This will be fun to use.

“Yeah,” Billie snorts, turning to grab everything left on the table. Once everything's spread out next to them, by their legs, Billie relaxes on top of Mike's thighs, bobbing his head to the music. His eyes light up at the same time Mike coincidentally grabs the glitter. “Remember when-” Billie pauses, burying his head into the side of Mike's neck as he laughs. Mike smiles as he tries to figure out how to open the lid. “When I was sucking you off and your fucking dad walked in?”

“Ugh, _Billie,”_ Mike mumbles grumpily at the memory, shaking his head as he finally gets the lid open.

“And we spent, like, ten minutes convincing him I'd dropped something,” there are tears forming in his eyes from laughing so hard, and he quickly wipes them off as Mike gets some of the glitter on his fingers. “Your dad's not as stupid as he seems.”

Mike doesn't have the heart to defend his father. “He didn't buy it for a second. We should have told him my prick was choking or something,” he points out, laughing as Billie all but chokes on his own spit from laughing so hard. Once he can breathe again, Billie stares at his glittery finger through watery eyes. “Where do I even put that?”

“I don't know, man, my cheek or something?” Billie murmurs, wiping his eyes before Mike has the chance to touch his face. Mike deems it good enough of a start, and so he smears the glitter all over Billie's cheekbone, careful not to get any in his hair or eye. The glitter's purple, and it brings out Billie's eyes beautifully. The fact that they've barely even started and Mike's already salivating goes unnoticed on his part.

“I'm not sure if this is right,” Mike mumbles as he does the other cheek, spreading some on the top of Billie's nose teasingly. Billie giggles, getting some glitter in his own fingers and rubbing it over Mike's own cheekbone. Mike huffs. “Do you know how hard this is to get out?”

“You put it up my fucking nostril, you can handle some on your cheek,” Billie jokes, delivering a big, over-the-top kiss on Mike's glittery cheekbone as if to prove a point. Mike's about to tell him his finger didn't go anywhere near his nostril, but Billie's mouth is covered with glitter right now, so he decides there are more important things in hand.

He admires Billie's sparkly mouth for a little while, but eventually snaps out of it. “Please don't eat it,” he warns on second thought, deciding that he's done with that for now. He closes the container and drops it on the cushion, screwing around with some of the products until he sees one he recognizes.

“Oh, I know that one!” Billie exclaims, alarming Hercules on the other side of the room. Mike widens his eyes, similar to a way an adult would feign interest to an over-excited toddler, with the catch that Mike's interested in everything Billie does and loves, for better or for worse. “You put that on your eyelids. I think.”

“We have a winner,” Mike says, imitating the voice of a game-show host as he opens the lid to this container. He sighs, “You didn't bring any brushes or anything.”

“I supposed they'd be in the containers,” Billie defends. “They are, usually.”

“Yeah, but my mom's had these since before I was even born,” Mike mumbles, more so to himself. He's not exaggerating. “God knows where she's put the brushes to these.”

“C'mon, Pritchard, you can't handle getting your fingers a bit dirty?”

Mike stares at him. There's a bit of silent laughter threatening to bubble out his chest, but he represses it as he practically rips the container open. “You want dirty? I'll give you dirty,” and then he smudges a bit of black eyeshadow on Billie's cheek, under the line of glitter he'd previously applied. Billie doesn't miss a beat; he smiles joyously, dips his fingers in the product and starts rubbing it around Mike's cheekbone, mixing it with purple glitter and making a mess out of his hands. They're both laughing, smearing shimmery black dust all over each other's faces, up until they need a moment to breathe and sit and stare at their works of art.

“You still haven't gotten any on my eyes,” Billie titters, bending down to kiss Mike's now glittery mouth. It doesn't register to Mike that he's gripping on the waist of Billie's dress with his dirty hand, but it doesn't really matter come to think about it. A black handprint on a white dress – he's seen worse.

After several kisses – most of them soft and delicate, since Mike considers himself pretty mushy right now – Mike gets back to work. He tries to practice applying eyeshadow on Billie's eyelids with his fingers, finding it quite hard when Billie won't stop fluttering his eyes.

“Can't you just close them?” Mike grumbles in frustration, pulling his hand back before he manages to stab Billie in the eye. Billie shrugs through a giggle.

“You look tolerable when you're focused.”

“Oh, okay,” Mike scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief as he tries again. “That's a valid reason. Fuck off.”

Billie snickers again, but for the most part, he tries to stay still when Mike's fingers are this close to his eye. Mike doesn't even seem to care that his mother's eyeshadow looks like it's been eaten with a spoon by now – instead, he focuses on the glistening dew of Billie's eyelids, almost sighing in contentment at how sparkly they look covered in black dust.

“Have I told you you have pretty eyes this week?” Mike mumbles, distracted by Billie's shiny eyelids. He finally closes the container once he's done with it, and places it on the coffee table in order not to stain the couch.

Billie moves along as Mike reaches out towards the table - there's not much else he can do, seeing as he's literally _on top_ of him as if there isn't a perfectly comfortable sofa cushion a few inches away. Mike doesn't hate himself that much to ask him to move. “A couple times, yeah,” Billie affirms, striking Mike's cheek softly. “Don't slack off. Get back to work.”

“Ugh,” Mike groans dramatically, pausing to check on Hercules at the other side of the room. He's playing with his chew-toy – one of the dolls Mike loved as a baby. He shakes his head as he grabs another random product. Blush. “God, if this dog could speak.”

“We've never done anything in front of the dog,” Billie whispers in horror, making Mike chuckle a little. “That'd be, like, abuse,” he adds as an afterthought, peeking down at the container in Mike's hands. He plays with the hem of Mike's shirt in anticipation.

“I'm talking about right now!” Mike exclaims, delivering a soft hit to the back of Billie's head. Billie rolls his eyes instead of replying. “Well, Hercules wouldn't tell on us, anyway,” he murmurs to himself, raising his voice to address the dog on the other side of the room. “Would you, boy?”

Hercules barks at the mention of his name, and then he focuses his attention back on his toy like nothing ever happened. Mike used to find his short attention span annoying when he was around thirteen years old, but now he finds his excitement endearing. Maybe it's because he reminds him so much of Billie, for whatever reason.

No one talks as Mike dips the brush into the powder, careful not to overdo it. He stares at it thoughtfully, “Do you think you're allergic to this or something?”

“I don't think so,” Billie shrugs, observing the product with the same scrutinizing stare as Mike is.

Mike takes a deep breath before he gently touches Billie's cheek with the pink brush, rubbing at his skin until he notices it taking a rosy hue. He's careful not to touch the areas of Billie's face that are smudged with black, not wanting to make his mother's brush filthier than it already is. He does the other cheek, smiling at the pretty pink tint it gives Billie's cheekbones, and then he dips the brush in one last time, putting some on the tip of his nose.

Billie's eyes go crossed as he follows the movement of Mike's hand, and his gaze goes a little hazy as he surges forward with a sneeze, then another one right after. Mike's laughing in his shoulder by the time Billie sits upright again, perfectly snug against his chest. Billie tries to put some distance between them petulantly, finding it hard to when Mike keeps pulling him back down.

“Well, don't inhale it!” Mike asserts, his back shaking with laughter. Billie looks annoyed, Mike notes, and he tries to pinch the flesh under Mike's arm, unsuccessfully.

“Well, I can't do much if you go slapping my fucking nose with it, can I?” he snaps, shaking his head as Mike starts leaving little kisses up and down his jaw, where he's pretty sure there's some acne blooming. They've never been the hygienic type.

“Okay, alright, how about I just do your lips or something and then we can be done with it?” Mike tries, already searching for the lipstick Billie liked before. Billie grabs his hand before he can touch it.

“No,” he whines, squirming around in Mike's lap, “there's so much stuff we haven't used yet.” To prove his point, he picks up the mascara container next to Mike's thigh. “Like – this goes in your eyelashes, right?” he imitates putting some on, smiling dopily up at his boyfriend. “See? I know my shit, come on.”

“You're really into this,” Mike muses, deciding to just grab the mascara out of Billie Joe's grip and get it over with. The thing is – he's really enjoying this. There's something so soft about him lounging about, with Billie sitting on top of him, doing his fucking makeup out of all things. He loves it, but he doesn't live alone, as much as he'd like to. God knows what will happen if his parents walk in right now, seeing their son casually lying around, with a lap full of boy – a boy in a frilly dress and makeup, nevertheless.

Billie smiles at him in encouragement as Mike grows quiet, and none of that really matters anymore.

“Alright, sorry,” he springs into action, pulling the wand out of the mascara tube carefully. He observes it for a second, knowing that Billie would probably like to check it out as well before it goes into his damn eye, and then he reaches forward, urging Billie to keep still.

“If you poke my eye...” Billie warns quietly, looking up at the ceiling as Mike slowly covers his eyelashes with the thick substance. It's black, Mike notices, and he wouldn't really know if he hadn't smudged some under Billie's eye, over the endearing bag tracing it. He hisses out an apology, and Billie just chuckles. "You know what, just do that and the lips and we're fine."

"Someone's getting doubtful," Mike clicks his tongue in disapprovement, finding it unnecessary to agree with him - out loud, at least.

The other eye is a bit trickier, what with Billie suddenly being all squirmy and what not. He constantly apologizes, giggling under his breath, resulting in multiple fuck-ups and black smudges all over his eyelids – and even on the bridge of his nose.

“Okay, I think the eyes are alright,” Mike sighs out, sounding incredibly relieved. He pauses to appreciate his work, and admire the sharp contrast between the vibrant green of Billie's eyes and the darkness of the makeup covering them. He's like a magnet, and Mike can't help but kiss him again, the hand that isn't playfully gripping Billie's lifted ass blindly searching for a lipstick.

He eventually has to pull away to properly get a hold of the lipstick, and he's about to screw it open before Billie snatches it out of his grip. He's a bit dumbstruck as he watches Billie open it himself, checking to see if he'd happened to have found a mirror in his mom's dresser and managed to dump it somewhere without Mike noticing.

And, suddenly, he feels the colored stick make contact with his bottom lip. He freezes in surprise, eyes straying to look at Billie's concentrated gaze, slowly applying lipstick on Mike's mouth out of all things. Even though he finds himself absolutely astounded, he silently allows Billie to paint his mouth with the cliché shade of red he'd chosen, even parting his lips helpfully, at Billie's request.

“A bit wider,” Billie murmurs, seeming completely set on doing this right. Mike obeys him, of course he does, and keeps on staring as Billie's own mouth parts in concentration. Billie glances up at him playfully at some point, before he motions for him to rub his lips together. Mike does – as embarrassed as he feels for feeling this turned on by this.

“What was that about?” he whispers dumbly, not being able to imagine how ridiculous he must look with his mouth painted red. Billie, however, can't seem to get enough of it. Mike would say that Billie is eye-fucking him if he could actually speak - or breathe, at least.

Billie, never removing his eyes from Mike's mouth, doesn't miss a beat before he kisses him for the hundredth time in the past hour. None of the other kisses were as charged as this one, and Mike's sure he's going to be able to feel the static passing through his fingertips any moment now, charging and shocking his whole body. Billie's rough and relentless, and the thought that he's doing this to get some of the lipstick on his own mouth passes Mike's mind for a quick second before it becomes too much to bear.

He forgets everything he's supposed to be doing, and he holds on to Billie's waist with both of his hands for dear life, catching Hercules running around happily from the corner of his eye before he shuts them both tight, finding him blissfully unaware to the sexual tension covering the room like a thick blanket. The slickness of Billie's mouth and the taste of the lipstick, combined with the delicate sound of Hole's _Softer, Softest_ echoing throughout the enclosed space of the living room is enough to send him into a frenzy, have him pull Billie closer desperately, wanting to feel just how warm his squirming body is.

Billie pulls away eventually, his breathing as erratic as Mike's would be if all the air in his system weren't hitched in his throat, leaning in to whisper something into Mike's ear. Mike's death grip on his waist doesn't even let up for a second as Billie leans forward, his weight transferring from the top of Mike's thighs to his burning chest. In a haze, he notices the lipstick on his mouth has been smeared all over Billie's lips, going as far as covering his cupid's bow and the sides of his mouth. His dick's gonna start to hurt any minute now, he just knows it. Billie's still breathing wetly in his ear.

“I need a ride home,” Billie mumbles hotly, and Mike isn't at all ashamed about the fact that he's already almost ready to spunk, just by the sound of Billie's voice. And then he comes to the realization of what Billie told him.

 _“Huh?”_ he breathes out, feeling the intense jack-rabbiting of his heart pound loudly in his ears. Billie licks over his teeth bashfully. “You mean, like- _right now?”_

“Well, it must be after seven, so,” Billie glances at the clock on Mike's wall, nodding as his suspicions are confirmed.

Mike watches him intently, willing his heart rate to lower down to an acceptable enough degree. His breathing seems to be permanently in the erratic side of the scale, and Billie still squirming around in his lap isn't helping at all. God knows how Mike hasn't cried in frustration yet. Hercules starts barking at something as he closes his eyes, so confused it's ridiculous. “After seven. Is that your curfew for the week or what?”

“No, but mom gets back around eight and cleaning up will take ages,” he offers, and that urges Mike to open his eyes. He starts laughing humorlessly at Billie's playful expression, then laughs some more as Billie starts peppering a line of kisses on his skin, starting from his mouth and slowly leading to his chest.

“So, like,” he sighs, scratching at Billie's scalp as he feels slight sucking on his jaw, “your mom doesn't even know you're here.”

“Nah,” Billie muses, much too busy kissing along Mike's neck to give him a proper explanation. “Anna does. I don't think she's gonna cover for me if we're late, though, so we better hurry.”

Mike stares in disbelief as Billie slings one leg above his thighs and stands up, suddenly aware of the fact that his legs have fallen numb from all the pressure Billie put on them. He rubs at them to relieve the tingles, his eyes never straying from Billie's back.

“I can't fucking believe you,” Mike murmurs as Billie picks up his coat, Billie's laughter sounding like a melody in his ears, even if he's still supposed to be dumbstruck. He supposes the easiest way to approach this is to give Billie his damn ride home and wait until tomorrow when he will inevitably see him again at their gig. And who knows, maybe Billie won't be heartless enough to leave him hanging again.

“Get it moving, Pritchard,” Billie muses as he slips back into the coat, irritatingly kicking Mike's knee until he decides to finally stand up and go fetch his shoes. He can barely fucking walk, for God's sake. He doesn't know how he should feel about Billie walking around so comfortably.

Billie ends up tying his shoes for him – God only knows how difficult it is for Mike to bend over right now – and they're ready to go, as ready as Mike can be at the moment, when he comes to the realization he still very much has a dog he's supposed to be looking after until his parents get back - and a cat, though Sheena's autonomy can't compare to Hercules' constant need for attentiveness. Mike pauses at the doorframe, searching the room for Hercules.

“What now?” Billie asks, sounding irritated, even though he's practically hanging off of Mike's arm like a koala bear.

“I can't leave Hercules alone,” answers Mike, finally spotting his beloved dog on the couch, sleeping soundly. He almost rubs Billie's hand at the sight.

“Well. He's sleeping,” Billie whispers hesitantly. “You'll be half an hour at most.”

Mike doesn't think about it much. He sighs in defeat, finally stepping out of the house, and tosses the keys of his beat-up truck to Billie, swatting him away with his foot as he locks the door. Billie runs over to the truck, careful not to have the coat hang open and risk anyone seeing what's hidden underneath. As if he'd have any problems with people knowing, Mike thinks.

Which reminds him. His face is still smudged with all kinds of crap, and his mother's makeup is still on the couch. He rubs his finger against his cheekbone just to check, as if tonight was just another dumb wet dream of his, indeed finding black eyeshadow mixed with purple sparkle. All he can do is pray his parents don't come home before he does as he runs over to his truck, hurriedly getting in the driver's seat as soon as he's in arm's reach.

“I forgot we both still have shit all over our faces,” he tells Billie Joe as such, who doesn't look like he'd forgotten. It's just not that big of a deal to him. Mike feels a bit wobbly again.

“It's okay, Anna won't notice.”

“I'm pretty sure anyone would be able to notice,” Mike informs as he glances at himself in the rear-view mirror, the reality of just how filthy he looks making him laugh, just a little bit. “We look like we lost a paintball match.”

“It's hot in here,” Billie murmurs to himself, sliding off his coat as Mike begins to drive. It's a two-minute drive to Billie's house, at most, but Mike is not about to tell him to put his coat back on. He doesn't hate himself that much.

“You know,” he begins, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as Billie gets comfortable on his seat, “I'm pretty offended I wasn't in on the whole dress thing.”

Billie looks over at him, his smile this close to reaching his earlobes. He absentmindedly bounces his leg in excitement, reaching an arm out to rub at Mike's back fondly, “Anna has more dresses...”

“Cool,” Mike laughs, and they both grow silent the closer they get to Billie's house.

Once they're there and Mike has parked the car, Billie notices it's only twenty past. He glances at the lights that are turned on inside his house, then back at Mike, almost conspiratorially. Something tells Mike he'd better brace himself.

“Wanna come up?” Billie asks in faux casualty, though Mike would recognize that glint in his eye under any possible circumstance. It's warmly familiar as it is arousing, and it never fails to make his stomach drop.

Mike laughs in wonder, either way, glancing back at Billie's house himself. _“Bill._ Al's gonna kick my ass.”

“Yeah, but Al's not home, though,” Billie whines sweetly, looking two seconds away from stomping his foot down. His expression goes from whiny to winning in a matter of nanoseconds, sliding a hand to rest on top of Mike's bouncy knee. Mike's too incredulous to put into words. “No one's home, just my sisters.”

Mike observes him, deep in thought, the stupid smile never leaving his face. After a few quick seconds pass in silence, he shrugs in defeat, “Your sisters are nice.”

“See? They're _super_ nice,” Billie pushes the car door open without looking away from Mike for a second, his eyes twinkling with something dangerous. “Come _on._ Don't you wanna finish what you started?”

“You can't be fucking serious,” Mike's eyes feel like they're going to bulge right out of his skull with how wide they are. The only thing keeping them in the confines of his eye sockets is the sight of Billie laughing at him bashfully, aware of how much of a minx he can be at times. Now, that's a sight to behold. _“You_ started it, you asshole!”

“Whatever!” he concludes in laughter, stepping out of the car without saying much else. “Come on, Mikey! I'm waiting.”

Mike stands still for all about two seconds, being too awestruck to do anything else, and then he's stepping out of the vehicle - to absolutely no one's surprise. He locks it up, walking over to Billie's side of the car and sighing as Billie immediately clings to his side, both of his arms tangled around Mike's forearm.

“Please tell me you have your keys,” Mike begs, looking down at him as Billie sticks to his arm, both of his hands having slid down to grab at Mike's single one.

“Of course I have my keys. I had this all planned out,” Billie says matter-of-factly, untangling his arm from around Mike's own to fish around his pocket for his keys, unlocking the door with one swift motion. Mike doesn't even try to look incredulous of Billie's admission - he believes it with his whole being.

It's practically a race after the door swings open. Billie doesn't even bother locking the opening behind them before they both start running up the stairs, all too aware of Billie's sisters lounging about in the living room, watching some Saturday night special. Mike almost tells Billie that they're nice, not daft, but Anna beats him to it.

“Billie?” she calls, turning the TV down a tad. Billie stops speed-walking towards his room, pulling Mike along and getting him to come to a halt beside him.

“It's me!” he calls back, pushing Mike inside his bedroom swiftly, giggling under his breath when he trips over a creaky wooden floorboard. “Mike's here, too!”

There's a pause in which Mike can't help but snicker under his breath as he observes a brand new-looking CD on Billie's desk, and then comes the much-awaited call of, _“Ugh,_ just lock the door, please!”

Mike's not even sure which one of them it was, but he can almost never tell, anyway. Billie pretends to gag at his sister's plea as he indeed locks his bedroom door, and then he jumps on his bed, pulling his coat open in a dramatic fashion. Mike observes him as the coat drops on the floor, and his eyes crinkle around a smile when Billie lifts his skirt suggestively.

“You have half an hour,” Billie purrs, and Mike knows the tone is just meant to serve as a joke, but there's also a glaring truth behind the playfulness. He shakes his head as he drops his shirt on the floor. “And... _go!”_

Mike doesn't run towards him on the word go, as expected, but he walks over carefully, rolling his eyes at Billie's show of rubbing over his own legs. He lies between his open legs, sighing in comfort as a pair of skinny arms wrap around his back. “Do you think your mom won't notice my car in the driveway or what?” Mike asks quietly, even as he's leaving tiny little kisses on the open neck of Billie's dress.

“Yeah, well, my mom likes you,” Billie buries both of his hands in Mike's hair, staring at the ceiling. “Hiding just makes it more exciting,” he pulls Mike's head up by the hair, leaving an open-mouthed kiss on his lips. It goes on like that, heated kiss after kiss, the girls' chatter easily audible from downstairs. “Oh,” he adds after several embraces, “if Al happens to get home earlier than expected, I've left the window over there open.”

Mike doesn't need to look over to see which window Billie's talking about – he's climbed in and out of that same damn window millions of times before, going as far as when he and Billie were still kids, yet to fall in love, and yet to even kiss for the first time - let alone do what Mike hopes they'll be doing soon.

“How about you don't speak for the rest of the hour?” Mike muses.

Of course, Billie _does_ speak. A lot. And of course, Al  _does_ come home earlier, but not before Billie's redeemed himself for the whole make-out session fiasco back at Mike's house. He does end up climbing out of the window after all, and he drives off without a scratch, not being able to believe his luck when he arrives home before his parents do. As he cleans up the mess with a well-rested Hercules hot on his heels, he thinks about sparkly green eyes covered in black angel dust, and soft, frilly clouds resting above pale skin and thin shoulders, mouth still plump and legs still tingly.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for checking this out!


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